Confusion
by Sarre
Summary: What would you do if you woke up on a battlefield?


_**Confusion**_

As I open my eyes, I hear gunshots. Shouting. As my vision catches up with my ears, I see men in green uniforms and black jackboots sprinting around, stirring up the dust and leaves of the plain that I'm lying on. As I scrabble to my feet, I manage to trip up a young boy, barely a teenager. The ammunition that he's carrying goes flying, as does he. I run over to him and see that his shoulder is badly twisted from the fall.

"Who are you?" he cries, bewildered.

"No ladies supposed to be fighting 'ere!" he adds.

"I don't know why I'm here, or where in the world this IS! All I know is that your shoulder has been dislocated and you need help." I reply, flustered.

"Di-disl-o-cat-e-who?" he says confusedly.

"Dislocated. It means that the bone in your shoulder has shifted out of place." I answer.

"How do we fix it? It huuurts." he moans.

"Ok. First, what's your name?" I ask brusquely.

"Tom" he croaks.

"Tom, I need you to sit up for me." I order.

Tom obeys. I rip a piece of bark off a nearby tree and lodge it between his teeth to avoid him biting his tongue off in pain. I take hold of his upper arm and shoulder, simultaneously grinding the scapula back into place.

Tom spits out the bark and screams with both relief and pain.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" I cry.

"No, no. I'm alright now thanks ma'am." he blubbers.

"Call me Ivy." I reply.

"Is that your name?"

"No. I mean, not my full one. My entire name is Ivran. But I prefer Ivy."

"How old are you?" he queries.

"15, You?"

"18! Whaddya think? They don't le..."

"Yeah, right. You look barely older than 13!" I interrupt.

"Ok, fine. You got me. I'm only 14." Tom admits, "But don't say nothin', else I'll be shipped back to England."

"My lips are sealed." I assure him.

"By the way, what are you doing in the middle of a war, bein' a girl and all" Tom asks.

"I don't know! I just woke up this morning, and found myself here, in this get-up!"

I gesture to my dusty army jacket, large black boots and faded trousers. My tie is tucked into the space between the buttons on the shirt that I'm currently sporting under the jacket. On my head is an uncomfortable visor cap with gold braiding and leaves across the brim. I peer down at my jacket, and notice that I am apparently a general.

"You're pullin' me leg! No way anyone could just appear in the middle of a war zone dressed as a soldier. I know you're a general, and I'm supposed to be all respectful and such, but you've gone batty!" He exclaims. Then he turns on his heel and stalks off, limping slightly as he goes.

I sprint after him and tackle him from behind. We fall to the ground, and I turn him over and pin him down to the ground.

"Listen. My name is Ivy Willis. I was born on the 13th of August, 1995. I live in London with my Mum, Dad and brother Charlie. I don't know what year, day or even place this is, but you obviously do. As a General, I order you to help me now." I say to him desperately.

"Ye-yes sir, I mean ma'am." Tom gulps.

"Good."

I pick him up and dust him off.

"Now, where are we?" I demand.

"Mile off the trenches, General Willis, ma'am" Tom stutters.

"What is the date?"

"The 18th of July, 1940."

"What country?"

"Germany"

"Very good, thankyou Soldier..."

"French, ma'am."

"Thank you Soldier, er... PRIVATE French. You may continue with your task."

As I turned on my heel, he did the same, picking up his dropped ammunition on the way. I went the way that I thought the trenches were. As I walk, a dusty green Jeep swoops in front of me, blocking my path. A man jumps out. He stands straight as an arrow, saluting me.

"General Willis! What are you doing on the battlefield?" he says, still in the same ridiculous pose as before.

"At ease, Sergeant. I am on the battlefield currently because I have no form of transportation back to the trenches. I am therefore walking back instead of sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of no man's land." I reply curtly.

"I'll drive you back to base, ma'am. If you wish to be driven, that is."

"Thank you for the offer Sergeant, but I will drive myself. Thank you for supplying the jeep."

I leap over the door and settle myself in the driver's seat, simultaneously turning the car on and shifting out of reverse. As I speed away, not really knowing where 'base' is, I start to realise that I don't know the first thing about driving a car, let alone a manual one. I also realise that my brain hasn't been working normally for the past half hour, as I don't know how to tell the rank of a soldier, or even give orders! Then, this strange new side of me takes over again, and I start shifting gears like a pro.

As I turn down a long passageway, I see what I presume to be the 'base'. A tall and imposing concrete structure with no windows at all on the front face. Grey. Drab. I hop out of the car and start marching up to the giant steel door. Really, I have no idea what I'll do when I get inside, but I try to stand tall and look confident anyway. As I push open the doors with both hands, I duck my head and push with all my might to try and get them to budge. Finally, a grinding noise, and the doors swing open on their hinges, whacking against the wall. As I stroll down the long hallway, I notice men are staring at me. I halt in the middle of the room.

"Yes? What are you all staring at?" I demand, looking around at the gaping soldiers.

"Nothing , ma'am. I-it's just that those doors are impenetrable from the outside, even if you have a battering ram on your person. You just snapped the hinges-industrial strength, they were." one of the soldiers reluctantly replies.

I look back at the doors, now hanging limply on the hinges and groaning sadly. I turn my head back to face the soldier.

"He. Guess I don't know my own strength. Sorry about that." I say timidly.

"General Willis?" I hear from behind me. I whirl around, and come face to face with a huge bear of a man, sporting a huge black moustache and bald, extremely shiny head.

I peer up at his face, as my nose barely reaches his elbows.

"Yes?" I demand confidently, trying to appear strong and important in front of this beast of a man.

"You are under arrest for the shooting and murder of Corporal Samuel J. Franklin." He replies coolly.

"Who are you to say so?" I shout up at him.

"I am General Sir Anthony Haig."

"Ah. I see...I think you're making a terrible mistake Sir. I have never shot a man in my life, and I have no reason whatsoever to murder a man on my own side!"

"You had plenty of reason. You and Franklin were in a year-long feud. It started when he claimed that 'women should stay where they belong, in the hospital'"

"I can see why I shot him! The sexist freak!"

"Yes. You're to come with me."

He grabs my arm and ushers me down the remaining part. He uses his giant arms to swing open the door like its cardboard. The door is uniform to the one that I broke, this man is a monster!

"Where're you taking me?" I demand, struggling to relinquish his grip on my arm.

"Overnight holding cell. You'll have one more night to live before the firing squad has their time with you."

"No! No! You don't understand! You can't kill me! I've done nothing wrong!" I plea desperately.

"You admitted yourself that you killed Franklin, and yes, I can kill you."

I manage to twist around and kick him fiercely in the groin. While he's bent over double I rush away, back down the long hall that I came in by. I hear him behind me, trying to catch up with me. But I have speed and agility on my side. Plus, I'm sure he's still rather sore - I doled out a fairly vicious kick. I'm 3 or four metres away from the broken door when I hear Haig leap at me from behind, grunting as he leaves the ground. I quickly turn and sprint into one of the small side rooms to the left of me, hearing his huge body smashing against the tiled floor. I quickly slam the door and run into the darkness of the corridor beyond. I realise as my eyes adjust that the corridor stops about 50 metres from the door with a wall. I'm a sitting duck in a rectangle of concrete, waiting for the crocodile to come and eat me.

I hear the door swing open and hit the wall. I hear a distant 'flick' and a strip of lights fizzle to life. Haig is standing at the door, snarling and hunched over. Crap. It's angry. He marches quickly towards me with his hands outstretched. I realise that I've lost. That's it. One more night in a dingy cell, and then a bullet will whistle towards me and it'll all be over. I slump to the ground in despair.

When Haig reaches me, he grabs me like a doll and slings me over his shoulder.

"How dare you defy orders, you little maggot!" he spits in my face.

But I have nothing witty to shoot back. I'm just staring into the backside of my captor. What will death feel like? Will I be able to dodge the bullets?

I'm tossed onto a musty bed and a folded blanket is thrown on top of me. The door swings shut with a bang, and all light fades from the room.

The next morning I awake to a soldier with a kindly face gently shaking my shoulder and calling my name.

"General Willis? Ma'am? It's time." He says gently.

I'm surprised at how nice he seems. Not like that brute Haig. I burst into tears and embrace him in one impulsive action, crying into the shoulder of his jacket. He hugs me back, obviously used to how women behave under pressure.

"Don't cry ma'am. I have a feeling that you'll get lucky in some way." He reassures me.

The next half hour is a blur. A bowl of porridge is placed on the table in front of me, and then taken away when I don't eat it. I'm then led out the door and into a small area with brick walls surrounding me.

"Ready, aim...fi"

The call of death is silenced by the fact that I'm moving. Upwards! I feel something coming from above and lifting me up and carrying me away. I faint.

The next thing I hear is the sound of the sea slapping against something hard. I sit up and look down at my clothes. I'm wearing a light linen shirt and dark brown breeches. I'm also wearing tight light brown stockings under the breeches, complete with black leather shoes and gold buckles. I feel something being placed upon my shoulders. Strong hands hook themselves under my arms and lift me to my feet, turning me round.

"Are you alright?" an inquisitive looking boy asks worryingly.

"Umm, uh y-yeah. I'm alright." I reply groggily.

"You took a fairly hard blow to the head, that Bill Anderson's a brute. No morals neither, hitting a lady like that!"

"Ohh, was I in a fight?" I say, rubbing my head. I feel blood running down into my eyes from the giant gash on my forehead.

"Yes. Here, you're bleedin'" he pulls out his shirttail and dabs gingerly at my forehead.

"Come with me, sit down 'ere, on this box." He gestures to a wooden box on the deck.

I follow after him limply and collapse onto the box.

"Where am I?" I ask.

"HMS Endeavour. Captain Cooks ship, heading towards Australia."

"Damn. It's happened again."

"What's happened?"

"Uh, never mind. You'd think I'd gone batty."

"Ah."

"Now, where is this Bill Anderson, and what exactly did he do to me?"

"He's the Captains right-hand man, inside the Captain's cabin most likely. He smashed you across the forehead with this marlinspike, and knocked you out cold with that chair."

"Right."

Although the pain in my forehead is excruciating, I march down the steps and swing open the hatch with a bang. I jump down into the dingy room below, and find that I've landed right in the middle of a pile of maps and charts.

"Hey! What're you doin' 'ere?" a loud voice from behind demands.

I whirl around to face the voice, and find my nose pressed up against sour smelling cloth. I stumble back and trip over a low bench, slamming my already sore head into a pile of empty wine bottles, shattering most of them with a loud smash. I sit up slowly, my hand gingerly dabbing at the back of my head. I pull my hand away to reveal blood. And glass. Damn.

"Once more, what are you doing here!" the man shouts.

"I'm here to see Bill Anderson." I reply, trying to sound commanding and confident.

"You're lookin' at 'im. Why did you want to see me?"

"To do this."

I swing my arm towards his flabby, overfed face in a way that I hope somehow replicates the movies. As my fist connects with his cheek, pain shoots through my stomach as I feel his uppercut throw me across the room. As I thud against the wall, I feel new power surge through me. I get back up from the floor and run over to the waiting Bill Anderson. I try my movie-style punch again, and this time he reels back in pain. As he straightens up from his crouching position, I see I've left a large purple bruise, spreading up to an incredible black eye, swelling gradually to cover his whole right eye with purple skin.

"You-you! I'm gonna KILL you!" he says threateningly.

"If you can catch me first, you lump of overfed goo!" I retort, sprinting out the open door at the other side of the room. As I run, other rooms and sounds start to make me dizzy and faint. Crap. That angry, adrenalized streak must have faded. I limp more slowly up the steps and into the blinding sunlight beyond. I hear an angry roar from behind me, and see Bill hurtling towards me, his bruise never looking more purple than at that moment.

I manage to turn away and crouch underneath a heavy hessian sack on one of the many boxes on deck. The sack is wet and smells like rotting fish, but I stay completely still, hoping that his vision will be blurred enough that he doesn't see me. I hear muffled shouting, and I stand up impulsively to see what all the fuss is about. What looks like the Captain is standing on a crate next to Bill.

"Who? WHICH ONE OF YOU IDIOTS DID THIS?" he shouts, pointing to Bill's eye.

I slink off down the deck guiltily, trying not to be noticed. Then Bill pipes up:

"Her! That girl there! She did it!"

The whole crew bursts into fits of laughter.

"Yeah, Bill. Right!" one of the men shouts.

"Stop it! STOP IT! SILENCE!" the Captain shouts.

"Captain, Sir, it was her. She punched me!" Bill whispers.

"Right. Although these morons don't, I believe you. Girl, come here!"

I turn and dejectedly walk to the captain. As I go, the whole crew is so silent that I can hear the drops of blood from my wound spattering on the deck. I put my hand to the back of my head, and feel that my hair is soaked-not with water, but with blood.

"Captain Cook, Sir? I did punch Bill, but he was the one that gave me this little prize!" I say, gesturing to the gash on my forehead, and also show him the back of my head.

"Are there any witnesses to her injury?" Cook says, addressing the crew.

"Aye, sir. I saw Bill knock her unconscious, and he had no reason to do so." answers the boy that helped me after I woke up.

"Your name, boy?"

"Peter, sir. Peter Hoskins."

"You saw this with your own eyes?"

"Yes."

"Very well. You seem trustworthy. If I find you have been lying, you'll be flogged-just like Bill Anderson is about to be!"

"No Sir! I did nothin' wrong! She and the boy are makin' it all up sir! You gotta believe me! I would never hit a lady!" wails Bill, as 2 burly men drag Bill off by his arms, while he flails about like a cat caught in a rainstorm.

"As for you, young lady, you have quite the punch on you! Why did he attack you in the first place?" Cook asks kindly.

"Uh, that's the thing, Sir. I have no idea what happened. All I remember is waking up to the sound of Peter helping me up and trying to mop up my bloody forehead with his shirt." I reply nervously.

"You have done a noble thing, Peter." he says, addressing Peter.

"Thankyou sir. You should probably take a look at her head sir, it's bleeding quite a bit." Peter says.

"Oh, of course! I'm being careless! But before I do anything, may I know your name?" Cook says to me.

"Ivy."

"Right, you may come with me, Ivy. We have an excellent infirmary downstairs; you need to get cleaned up a little!" as he says this, he looks thoroughly at my gash and the broken shards of glass jaggedly sticking out from under my damp and sticky hair.

"Yes sir. Thankyou for your kindness."

I follow the captain down the steps I just ran up. I notice they are sprinkled with bloody pieces of glass, covered with bits of hair. My hair. Peter trails behind us, anxious to clean up my wounds, which are now starting to throb even more than usual. I am led into a small, white room that smells like wet mice. I turn my head slowly to find a corpse lying on a cold stone slab. Ahh, the delicious smell of putrefaction. Now, I have a fairly strong stomach, but the sight of the corpse with its worm eaten skin is starting to make me feel a little sick.

"Uh, sir?" I ask the Captain meekly, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Yes?" he replies, leaning down to meet me eye-to-eye.

"Is this an infirmary or a morgue?"

"I see what you mean. I'm told by here that the remains will be deposited of today, so you needn't worry about it any more."

"Please, sit down here. I must clean your head." a small man with a faint Hungarian accent in a white coat says. I'm assuming this is .

I obey him, and hear scissors next to my ears, and discover that he's cutting away my long hair and gently pulling the pieces of glass out of my head.

"You're extremely lucky. No glass has actually penetrated the skin more than a few millimetres." The doctor says. I then hear a bottle being opened, and a cloth is held in front of my nose. Everything goes black.

I wake up in the same white room, with my head bandaged and shaved. I sit up groggily, and walk slowly out onto the deck. Men all around are staring at my head, and I realise that the bandage is soaked in blood. Time to change. I then hear shouting, and I see Peter pointing to the sky. I look up, and see a giant hand coming towards me. Thick fingers pick me up and carry me away from the ship, and I am set down on what appears to be a window ledge. I hear loud, incomprehensible voices above me, and I look up to see a giant man in a tweed jacket with a pipe hanging out of his mouth. I look around in confusion, and see lots of other worlds in little glass cases and benches with other giant people sitting on them. I then notice a sign. _Museum of London_ in bold yellow letters. Hold the phone! Museum? I've been in a _museum_ this whole time? That would explain so much! My miraculous saviour from the firing squad, me waking up in the middle of a war zone! But, how? HOW? Did some crazy professor snatch me from my bed a few days ago and turn me into a tiny figurine? What? The next thing I see in a giant hand above me, threatening to squash me. I duck and jump down from the ledge, only to see a giant shoe about to come down on top of me. But I'm not fast enough. This is my last thought - forever. Damn.

The End


End file.
